Born of Lies
by renovek
Summary: She was born and raised the daughter of merchants and winemakers. Adventures were things spoken of only in children's stories. When news comes that her mother's been kidnapped, Gytha and her fiancé find themselves taking on the mantle of adventurers and, as they travel further east, guides for a prince of Erebor and his friend. AU, Dori/OC.
1. Family Duties

A/N: Hey guys! Welcome to the first chapter of my new fic! If you guys like it, feel free to leave me a comment~

* * *

Chapter One: Family Duties

"With the influx of raw, uncut crystals coming in monthly from Ered Luin, we've been able to employ more gem carvers. Also, the Southfarthing of the Shire has signed a trade agreement stating that we'll send them fine farming tools at discounted prices and they'll do the same with their famed tobacco."

"Good, good…I suppose Master Baggins had a hand in the negotiating?"

"Oh, I don't doubt it. Bilbo has always put in a good word for us when it comes to the Shire. Bree, too, now that I think of it."

"And what of the negotiators we've sent into the east? Have any of them returned yet?" Thorin paused in his steps, turning to look back at Balin, who had at least a dozen scrolls tucked under his arm, and Fíli, who seemed to be absentmindedly gazing down into the marketplace.

"Not yet, though they're due to arrive back any day now," Balin replied, sorting through the scrolls for one in particular. "Lord Bard, however, shall be arriving in two days to talk about the new farmlands his people have sown this year and what he'll expect our people to provide for the autumnal food trades."

Thorin nodded in understanding. "I'll wager that they've more grain and vegetables than what we got last year, though I don't wager it to be much more than what they've provided in the past. That's why we sent negotiators east; between Erebor and Dale, food is becoming tight during the winter." He thoughtfully stroked his beard, his gaze once more going to his nephew. Fíli's attention was still elsewhere, earning a sigh from the king.

"If I may, sire, I think a change of subject is needed, as we've not discussed Kíli's recent engagement-"

Thorin held up his hand to silence his advisor. "Fíli, have you been paying attention?" he asked, his brow rising as he watched the younger dwarrow.

Fíli turned to his uncle, wide-eyed as he had been startled out of his thoughts. "What? Oh, yes, uncle, I have."

"Then perhaps you can suggest a way that our two cities can get more food to tide us over through the winter?"

Fíli was able to hide his cringe; he had, admittedly, not been paying much attention. "Well, when the negotiators from the east return, we'll be able to see what they can offer…but until then, we need to wait for the news they bring?" he suggested futilely. "That, or we could grant the people of Dale more land around the mountain to turn into farmland. That'll mean more crops and animals for sure."

Balin looked at Thorin, his white brow rising in slight amusement. It wasn't an entirely bad plan, but he knew Fíli had come up with it off the top of his head.

"While that is a good idea," Thorin spoke, his tone even, "it's too late in the year for the humans to build new homes, let alone sow their fields and raise their animals. Not only that, but our two cities would need to send patrols out to those farmss, taking soldiers away from the defenses closer to home –as Balin and I discussed yesterday."

Fíli inwardly sighed. "I'm sorry, uncle. I guess it had slipped my mind."

"Many things seem to be slipping from your mind of late," Thorin commented, crossing his arms. "What has you so distracted?"

Looking away from his uncle, Fíli shifted his feet. "Nothing, uncle. I'm just thinking about my fight training later."

Thorin's brow rose and the slightest hint of a smile came to his stern face. "Still trying to think of ways that'll let you best Dwalin, are you?"

Nodding, Fíli managed a small grin. "Someday, I'll manage to get the upper-hand on him." Truthfully, his mind was not on fighting at all, but on the small amount of time that evening when he would be free of all lessons. It was during that time that he would finally be allowed some peace and quiet and not be forced to worry about learning everything there is to know about being a king or a good fighter.

Lightly patting his nephew's shoulder, Thorin chuckled. "That I doubt, but you are already an excellent fighter. I'm sure when you're king, if ever Erebor came to war again, you and Kíli will be an undefeatable team."

"That they will," Balin agreed, "but only if the lads get their heads out of the mithril mines. Otherwise, their lessons will never stick."

Fíli frowned slightly. "I think Kíli is the one you should be worrying about –after all, all he can think about these days is his upcoming wedding."

Thorin gave him a knowing look. "Yes, but Fíli is not my heir, nor is he expected to know how to rule over a people. His duty will be to oversee your future armies and to command them in your stead." He turned away from his nephew and motioned to the vast city below them with the stump that was what remained of his left arm. "It will, however, be your duty to care for these dwarrows as if they were your family, but you cannot do that if you don't start paying better attention to what Balin and I are trying to teach you."

"I know, uncle," Fíli quietly told him. "I'll try to do better."

"I know you will," Thorin replied, giving him a small smile. Once more, he turned and began to walk. "Now, Balin, you wanted to discuss Kíli's approaching wedding…?"

Balin glanced between Fíli and Thorin before giving a quick nod and following after his king. "Aye. The lad wants t' have it on Midsummer's Day so that Tauriel may see Erebor and Dale in their full-bloomed glory…"

Fíli let out a quiet sigh and once more trailed after the two. He did his best to pay attention to the various subjects that were brought up and even managed to participate in the conversations regarding the defenses of Erebor, Dale, and Esgaroth. He couldn't help but dart away in joy, nevertheless, when it finally came time for him to meet up with Kíli and Dwalin for their battle-strategy lessons.

Alas, that joy was quickly turned into disappointed. Dwalin had promised Dori that he and the two princes would help the merchant to unload his latest cargo shipments from the Red Mountains. It wasn't a very large shipment, but what was there was heavy and packed away in large boxes, as Dori and his brothers dealt with rare foods, drinks, and spices.

"I really must thank you lads again for all this help," Dori told them as he carried two crates into his shop. "I couldn't believe Ori, Nori, and Zori all had things to do today!" He shook his head disappointedly and set the crates down near the doorway leading to the storeroom. "You can just set the boxes down here."

Fíli and Kíli set down their crates, each one struggling slightly with the weight of the things. Dwalin was having less trouble than them, but was only able to carry one box at a time, unlike Dori who was the strongest of the group.

"Ah, it's nothin'," Dwalin replied. "It helps build character. Isn't tha' right, lads?" He focused his one remaining eye on the princes.

"Yes, sir," the brothers chorused. Kíli winced as he set his crate down atop Fíli's, feeling a small twinge in his back. Seeing his brother's flinch, Fíli lightly smacked his arm.

"With the knees," he told him, crouching down ever so slightly. "You lift with the knees, you dolt."

Kíli smacked his stomach in return. "I know, but that box was heavier than I thought; my arms gave out." He scrunched his nose up slightly and rubbed his arm where his brother had smacked him as they walked back out to the cart. "Anyway, you shouldn't be scolding me when you can only lift with one knee."

"I have two perfectly capable knees," Fíli corrected. "As for perfectly good calves and feet, now that's another story…" Lowing his center of strength, he dragged one of the crates towards him before lifting it up and off the cart. "After this, do you want to go grab some lunch or a drink?"

Copying his older sibling, Kíli also lifted one of the boxes. "Alright. Where were you thinking?"

Fíli shrugged, carrying the box into Dori's store. "I don't know…I was thinking somewhere in Dale. Maybe the Tankard?"

"That's the _only_ place yeh two go t' that outside o' Erebor," Dwalin interjected, taking Fíli's box so he could stack it.

"With good reason," Kíli grinned. "Good food, good drink, and we get to see Bofur and Bifur!"

At that, Dori chuckled. "Ah, yes, the two entrepreneurs. I've actually got some things here that Bofur put an order in for, so I guess I'll have an excuse to go into Dale myself here soon." Once more returning to the cart, he grabbed two small barrels, tucking one under each arm. The other three could hear their contents sloshing about and they wondered if they contained some rare wine or ale.

Dwalin handed one of the larger barrels to Fíli. "Though, I don't recommend the two o' yeh go t' Dale today."

The brothers frowned. "Why not? We're almost done here; we'll be free after that," Fíli argued.

The taller dwarf cocked his brow. "Did ya forget tha' yer uncle is havin' the two o' yeh come with him t' inspect the outer defenses an' the guard tower after this?"

They groaned. "Please tell me we'll get lunch before we go?" Kíli protested. "We didn't get breakfast today because it's Bombur and Gerdi's day off an' mum was off visiting you!"

Dori and Dwalin cocked their brows. "You're in the triple digits now and you still don't know how to cook for yourselves?" Dori asked, his tone not impressed.

"We can cook, but it's not very edible," Fíli replied with a small grin. "Especially Kíli's fare. He lets everything burn."

Kíli shot him a small glare. "Says the dwarrow who undercooks his meat and steeps his tea for twenty minutes."

"I'd rather my food have a bit of blood than be a lump of charcoal. As for the tea, that was one time and completely on accident-"

"Lads," Dwalin scolded. "Stop actin' like you're dwarrowlings; you're nearly a hundred 'n twenty an' are princes o' Erebor." He shook his head and gave them both a shove towards the door. "We'll finish up here an' then we'll get some food from the Hammer an' Anvil."

"Yes, sir," Fíli sighed, dragging yet another crate towards him.

* * *

That night, Fíli collapsed on his bed with a tired sigh. After a long day of lessons, inspections, and cargo hauling, he was quite ready to simply rest and relax. Here, in his room, it didn't matter if he was Thorin's heir or whether or not he knew the best way to disarm an ax-wielding orc. For the time being, all that mattered was that he was alone and didn't have to worry about a thing.

Pushing himself back onto his feet, he shrugged off his layers of furs and royal accoutrements in favor of just his trousers and undershirt. Then, reaching under his bed, he pulled out a basket and went to sit on the cushioned window seat across his room. A small smile graced his lips as he looked through the glass, able to see the lantern-lit hub that was Erebor's market below.

'I hope they all had a good day,' he thought, crossing his legs and opening the basket. 'And that they get to return to warm meals with their families.' Balls of colorful yarn were revealed by the basket's opening, along with a carefully folded length of knitted cloth that had two wooden needles sticking out of it. Unfolding this, Fíli resumed his work on it, counting the stitches in each row before moving onto the next.

He would never admit it, but he had grown quite fond of knitting –he had been quite disdainful of it when he was first learning, but Ori had assured him it would keep his mind sharp and off of his injures after the Battle of Five Armies. It had worked, and now, nearly forty years later, he could knit quite well. Most of his finished pieces went to his family as gifts, though he never told them that the garments had been made by him. Otherwise, he knew he'd never hear the end of it from Kíli.

A soft knock came to the door, drawing him from his stitch counting. Quickly shoving the cape into the basket, he tucked the whole thing behind some pillows. "Come in," he called, shifting himself so he sat against said cushions.

The door opened and Dís, his mother, poked her head in. Finding her son sitting by the window, she smiled and entered the room, two mugs of what he presumed to be hot cider in hand. She crossed the room and sat down next to her son, offering him one of the tankards.

"I didn't see you at dinner," she spoke, resting her own drink on her lap.

Fíli sniffed the contents of the mug. Not cider, but tea –_good _tea. "Balin got caught up in teaching me about the clans of the Red Mountains."

Dís' brow rose. "I thought you learned about them when you were still just a child?"

He shook his head. "Just their names and the fathers of them…this was when it was thought I'd never sit on the throne of Erebor." Taking a small drink from his mug, he let out a quiet sigh as the taste of lemon and blackberry filled his mouth. "Don't worry, though; I stopped by the kitchens before I came here. Gerdi was sure to stuff me with food."

"Good, good…How were your lessons today?" She took a drink of her own tea.

"The same as usual. Tedious and boring."

Quietly laughing, Dís shook her head. "Someday, you'll look back and be thankful your uncle is making you learn so much."

"I know," he sighed, "but it seems like so much of what I'm learning isn't going to be put to any use."

Setting her tankard on the floor, Dís reached over and pulled her eldest son towards her. "Your uncles and I thought the same thing when we were your age," she told him as she began to comb through his hair. "Frerin and me more so than Thorin. Oh, how Frerin would complain about having to learn different units of currency and how much gold was worth in one human city compared to its worth in an elven city…" She shook her head, her fingers making quick work of a braid along his temple.

"I, myself," she continued, "found it utterly pointless to learn about our kin in the east –after all, I had grown up in the Blue Mountains and we had never had contact with anyone from the Red Mountains. What use would it have been for me to learn about them?" She shook her head and laughed again. "Now look…thanks to learning all of that, I helped to arrange the gifts for the negotiators to take to the Stiffbeards, Stonefoots, and Blacklocks."

"Why not the Ironfists?" Fíli questioned, his brow rising.

With his back turned towards her, he was unable to see the frown come to Dís' features. "Because the Ironfists are not worthy of our friendship, Fíli." She sectioned a lock of his hair into four locks before beginning to weave them together. "I hear you helped Dori today. How has he been?" she questioned, changing the subject.

"Well," he answered. "He made us –us being Dwalin, Kíli, and me- some lunch as a thank-you. He also broke out some blackberry wine from Dale, so he and Dwalin ended up getting a little tipsy. That was fun to watch."

"Oh, I would imagine," she smiled. "Especially since Dori's normally so proper and sophisticated."

At that, Fíli snorted. "That's true. Despite his fussiness, he's a nice dwarrow to be around."

"That he is. He genuinely wants people to be happy and cared for…in this age, there are so few people –dwarrow or not- who are like that. It's quite refreshing." Finishing the braid, she released her son so that he could lean back. "Mahal did well when crafting him." She grinned –the smile was almost identical to Kíli's- and took a drink from her tea. "Just like how he did well in crafting you and your brother."

Fíli chuckled. "Strange. Wasn't it just yesterday you were cursing the two of us because we stole some of your sweet rolls for breakfast?"

She rolled her eyes, though the smile remained on her lips. "That doesn't stop me from being the proud mother of you two," she told him. A tender smile graced her features and she reached over, pushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "The two of you –and your uncle…the whole company, really- have been through so much for our people…I still thank Mahal every day for bringing you all home to me."

A small smile came to Fíli's lips. "Me too, mother. Me, too."

* * *

Elsewhere in Middle Earth, the sun was only just beginning to set into lands beyond ocean. The crisp, autumn air was filled by a song sung by human and dwarvish voices as their owners sought a way to past the time harvesting small, white berries. Some of the older workers, needing to give their backs a rest from being bent over most of the day, drummed out a rhythm on the wooden scoops or hummed the melody beat of the song while the younger generation clapped their thighs and sang along.

One of the female dwarves, having reached the end of her row, stood upright and started to trudge through the mud towards a large cart where woven, cedar baskets were stacked. She panted quietly as she undid the harness around her torso, glad to be relieved of its weight as she dumped her berries into one of the baskets. Most were filled to the brim with the large berries, though a few still remained empty.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see an elderly human male approaching her, his body wrapped in warm, white furs. He smiled and leaned against his staff, watching as she began to empty a second pouch of berries into a basket.

"It would seem that Yavanna has blessed us with a good harvest," he spoke. "Wouldn't you agree, Gytha?"

"Yavanna certainly has," the woman grunted, lifting the now-full basket back onto the cart. Using her sleeve to wipe the sweat from her brow, she breathlessly turned to the elder, wearing a tired smile. "And I'm thankful that your tribe is helping to harvest all these berries, Etáni. Alone, it would have taken my clan weeks –and by then, the ice berries would have rotted away."

Etáni reached over and plucked one of the berries from a basket. "Before your people came to these lands, most ice berries did rot away," he explained, "because my people couldn't find ways to preserve them. It is too late in the year to dry them and brewing alcohol is not a craft my people do." He popped the berry into his mouth and shivered, a smile wrinkling his face. "Just as delicious as I remember them."

"What, can't remember their flavor after ten years?" joked Gytha. She brushed some stray hair from her face and gazed out over the fields as the singing died away. Many of the workers were finishing up for the season, ready to go home and rest. "Would two days suffice before the celebration?" she asked, looking back to the elderly human before beginning to fold her harness.

He nodded. "The hunters and fishers should be back in that time," he told her, "giving us more than enough food for the winter _and _a feast or two."

Tossing the harness into the cart, Gytha crouched down and reached under the framework of the cart. "That's if Oromë's luck was on their side," she reminded him. "Last year, he hadn't been so kind to our hunters."

Etáni's brows furrowed both at the memory of last year's winter and what the dwarf was doing. "Malva has read the stones," he explained, unconsciously nodding in understanding as Gytha pulled out a metal box, "and they that we shall have plenty to eat this winter."

"Then I have faith that we'll be well off," she replied, pulling a key from within her coat. She used it to open the box, revealing silver and gold coins within. "How many baskets were you thinking?"

"Four should be enough for my tribe," he replied, moving closer to watch her stack the coins. "But five would allow us to make dye pots."

"Then how does six sound? Four for your bellies and two for your dyes."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Six? Wouldn't your family object to that?"

"This is the largest harvest of ice berries we've had on record," she told him, tossing a copper coin back into the box, "and this is the least amount of people we've had to harvest. Your people deserve the extra berries." She glanced over her shoulder as the workers started to file towards the cart to dump their berries and collect their day's pay.

Etáni slowly nodded, though he still looked concerned. "We will take the six," he spoke at length, but only if you're entirely certain it would not put you on bad terms with your family." Having lived alongside Gytha's clan and their winemaking ways, he knew that they could sometimes be a bit greedy when it came to paying his people –both in gold and in berries.

Gytha waved her hand dismissively. "They put me in charge of the business while my parents are away. If they do not like my ways, so be it. Feroze or Drahomír will be in charge next time." She gave him a smile before turning to the workers, thanking and paying each one as they emptied their harnesses.

When she had finished paying the dwarves and humans and was beginning to hitch a team of large, bull moose to the cart, she could see a third moose, this one a cow, trotting towards her from the forest. Through the cow's spindly legs, she could see her second-youngest brother, Oszkár, riding behind her on a sledge. He brought the cow to a stop a few yards from his sister before hopping off of the sledge.

"Looks like the harvest was bountiful one," he commented, seeing the stacks of baskets in the cart. "How many basketfuls did we get this year?"

"Nearly two hundred," she replied, "and six went to the Lossoth."

"Grandmother and grandfather aren't going to like that," he frowned.

Gytha shrugged. "Last winter, their tribe lost almost a quarter of its people to starvation and sickness and yet they were still willing to help us with the harvest. Don't you think that deserves a bit of extra reward?"

He nodded. "Of course I do, but it's not me you'll have to convince –it's Masika and Miksa. Speaking of them…they want you to have dinner with them tonight."

"Great," she sighed, elongating the word. "Either they want to talk about my engagement or I'm in trouble for something."

Oszkár shrugged and reached up, patting the nose of one of the bull moose as he leaned down to sniff the dwarf. "Can't fathom why you'd be in trouble; nothing's gone wrong."

"Then it's about the engagement," she sighed. Scratching her auburn beard, she shook her head. "Thanks for letting me know, though. At least I can prepare myself for two hours of being reprimanded for not getting married yet."

* * *

"Six baskets? You gave them _six baskets _of ice berries?"

"It's a fair payment, don't you think? After all, they lost a quarter of their village last winter." Gytha leaned back against the cushions and took a long drink from her wine. "It's a wonder they could spare anyone from the hunting and fishing expeditions."

Her grandfather shook his head. "Then you should have gone to the Itä-ma; their numbers are plenty and they surely could have spared a couple dozen workers instead of fifteen."

At Miksa's words, his wife shot him a small glare. "Do you not remember what happened the last time the Itä-ma 'helped' with the harvest?" she questioned, her voice sharp as a sword. "They trampled half the berries in the fields, showed up late, and left early." She turned to Gytha, her features softening only slightly. "You did well in asking the Kuru for their help, but that is not to say that you weren't foolish. To not consult us on such an vital decision such as the amount of berries that could be spared could have meant the difference between a good year of winemaking and a bad year."

'We've nearly got two hundred baskets of berries; I think we can spare a _meager_ six,' Gytha wanted to tell her, but instead found herself quietly saying, "I apologize, gamilamad. If I should be in charge of the next harvest, I will remember to speak with you and gamiladad before I pay the workers."

Masika sighed, pouring herself some more wine. "Nathîth, you are still young yet, but with the possibility of the traders not returning, it is time for you to not only take on more responsibilities, but to also _act _like you are competent in said tasks." She stared across the table at her granddaughter. "If your parents don't return, Gytha, it will be your duty to someday lead this clan."

Choking on her wine, Gytha snatched up a napkin and covered her mouth. "Pardon?" she wheezed, her voice muffled by the cloth. "What about Uncle Drahomír? Surely he's next in line to take over the family."

Miksa shook his head. "You should know well enough by now that this clan is not run by the males." Using his fingers to scoop some rice onto his plate, he tore off a piece of flatbread. "And, as much as it pains us to tell you this, it is you who will need to see the family through the winter." He placed a bit of the rice and a bit of mashed yam on the bit of a bread before taking a bite out of it.

Gytha's fingers lightly gripped the edge of the table as she looked to her grandmother. "Gamilamad, is this your way of saying you're stepping down as clan leader?" she dared to ask.

Masika let out a sarcastic laugh. "Do not mistake this news for that, nathîth," she scolded. "I still have some years left in these old bones; we are merely beginning to teach you what you must know come the time when I return to the earth." She cupped her glass with both hands and took a long, slow drink before continuing.

"You already know everything we have to teach you about business: how to treat your workers, how to negotiate trades, even how to make our wine. What you lack, however, is domestic knowledge. How to cook, how to sew, how to please your future husband…All those things you must know alongside your business sense. That is, if ever the two of you actually _get _married." The look she gave Gytha was not a pleasant one.

Fighting to find some sort of response, Gytha ended up looking down at her plate in embarrassment. "We were thinking the summer," she finally responded, her voice quiet. It was a partial lie; she and Jahangir _had _discussed the date for the wedding, but it hadn't been for that summer.

"Summer would be good," Masika sighed. "If the weather favors us, then we may have a warm summer." She was about to dip her fingers into the water when the door slammed open and Gytha's eldest brother, Feroze, burst in.

"The traders and hunters are back!" he cried, his eyes wide in delight. "They're all back!"

Masika rose to her feet, awe written on her face. "Where are they?"

"They'll be in the courtyard soon; Drahomír spotted them on his way back from the Frostbeard village."

Masika and Miksa hurried out of the private dining room, Feroze on their heels. Gytha hurried after them, though her sore limbs prevented her from running as fast. Hurrying through the front hall, she found her grandparents' shawls still on their hooks and she uttered a soft curse, grabbing them. By the time she stepped out into the frosty night, torches had been lit, bathing the area in warm light and a large crowd of dwarves had gathered. Moving to stand by her grandparents, she wrapped their shawls around them, ignoring their quiet protests.

Coming into the courtyard was the beginning of a large troupe of dwarves, some riding on sledges behind moose, but most riding in wagons drawn by long-haired oxen. Those who came on sledges wore large, triumphant grins, for two of the moose were pulled a cart full of the trophies from their hunt. The traders, however, wore weary smiles as they looked upon their home and families for the first time in nearly five years.

One of the hunters, a handsome dwarf with earthy skin and copper hair, hopped off his sledge and walked over to Gytha. Scooping her up –an action that earned a yelp of surprise from the dame-, he kissed her rather deeply. He pulled back and laughed when she smacked his shoulder.

"Jahangir, you put me down this instant!" she laughed.

"What, no hello? I'm away for two weeks and this is how you greet me?" he joked, still holding her off the ground.

She gave him a knowing look, though still wore a small smile. "Not in front of the clan," she told him, leaning down to kiss his nose. "But I am glad to see you –especially since it seems you've brought the traders home."

Finally setting her back on the ground, he turned and gazed out at the wagons and the flood of dwarves hurrying to greet them. "I can't take credit for that," he admitted, "though I can take credit for the two boars we brought back."

"Oh, only two boars? You were boasting that you'd get three," she joked. She then gave him a small shove towards a group of copper-headed dwarves. "Go to your family and greet them; you can show me the rest of your trophies tomorrow. I need to find my parents."

He nodded in understanding. "Go on then –I'll be sure to steal you away tomorrow, though," he chuckled, giving her a playful wink. Turning, he gave a respectful nod to her grandparents before going off to his family.

Gytha, however, started to search the caravan for her mother and father. It was a bit of a difficult task, for the area had become rather crowded quite quickly. Excusing herself as she squeezed her way past a dame and her child, she was finally able to spot the familiar deep purple that was her father's wagon. Where her mother's blue-covered wagon was, she did not know.

Masika, Miksa, and her brothers had already gathered around her father, who looked much older than when he had left. His fiery hair was streaked with gray and his golden skin had started to wrinkle around his mouth and eyes. As he spoke to his in-laws and sons, his face was grave. Gytha paused in her steps; he also bore scars across his face and his normally jovial eyes looked empty.

"The east is changing," he was telling Masika and Miksa as she neared. "The people are changing. Cities that have always been friendly to us are now hostile and the lands are filling with orcs and goblins. We can no longer visit the Blacklocks and Stonefoots because the humans deny us the use of their roads."

"That doesn't sound pleasant at all," Masika spoke. "Goblins and orcs roaming about? Friendly merchants being denied access to cities?" She shook her head. "What is happening over there…?"

"I do not know," Otakar sighed, "but I do not think we'll be visiting the southern lands again for a long while."

Gytha glanced around. "Father…where is mother?" she asked.

Otakar jumped, her presence taking him by surprise. "Gytha, don't startle-" He faltered as he turned to her and his face paled. Eyes widening, he swallowed hard and took a step back from her.

"Father?" she questioned again, frowning. "Father, what's wrong? And where's mother?"

He looked as if he had seen a ghost. "She's not here. She's _not _here," he mumbled, his voice suddenly weak and tired. He sounded as if he were speaking more to himself than to her. Swallowing hard, he turned away from her and tiredly rubbed his face. "Gytha, I'm sorry. I-I can't stand to look at you. You look too much like her. Please…just –just go away."

A mixture of anger and confusion filled Gytha's mind. "What are you talking about? _Where is mother_?" she demanded.

"She's not coming home!" he suddenly snapped, his tone unusually bitter. Once again, he rubbed his face. "She's in the east and she can't come back. Your mother's been taken prisoner."

Miksa let forth a wave of curses while his wife merely stared at Otakar in horror. "What do you mean she's been taken prisoner?" Masika whispered. "By who? Who took my daughter from me?!"

He didn't meet her gaze as he answered, "The Dark Sorcerer –Uzninhadâl."


	2. Taking Chances

Chapter Two: Taking Chances 

Dori quietly hummed to himself as he lightly ran a feather duster along the shelves in the shop –not that the place needed a dusting. It was merely something for him to do to keep busy during the slower hours. Not that he ever found himself terribly overrun with customers anyway; such was the price he paid for dealing in the rare and unique. He didn't mind, however –the customers he got were good and loyal.

He had just set the feather duster down when the door to the shop burst open, startling him. Looking up, he saw as Fíli darted in, the prince looking almost scared.

"Fíli, lad, what's wrong?" he asked, brows furrowing.

Looking around the shop, Fíli headed for the back room. "Ah, nothing's wrong but –uh, I'm not here, alright?" He gave Dori a cheeky grin before ducking behind the counter, hiding himself from view of anyone who entered.

His brow rising, Dori turned back to a shelf of expensive, rare red teas from the Red Mountains. He was just starting to reorganize the shelf when the door opened a second time –only, this time, it was Dwalin who entered.

"Dori!" He walked over to the shorter dwarf and Dori could see that he looked both frustrated and exhausted. "Have yeh seen Fíli? The lad is missin' out on his lessons."

"Well, I certainly don't know why he would come here," Dori chuckled. "Try the forges or the armory. Knowing Fíli, he's probably gone off to have a drink or two in Dale with Bofur."

Dwalin let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed the top of his tattooed head. "He's goin' t' be the death o' me, I swear it," he grumbled. "If yeh see him, would yeh mind givin' him a holler for me an' send him back t' the Keep?"

"I don't know about giving him a 'holler', but I will tell Fíli that you and Thorin are looking for him," he replied. "I wish you a fruitful search, Dwalin, but if you don't mind…I was just about to close up for lunch." He gave Dwalin a friendly smile as he started to usher him out of the shop.

When he had heard the door close, Fíli poked his head over the counter. Finding Dwalin gone and Dori locking the door, he let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks for that," he told Dori, standing upright.

"Even a prince needs a break from his lessons," he chuckled. "I don't suggest leaving through the front door, though –it looks like Dwalin's going to keep a patrol through the market." Turning back towards the prince, he lightly shrugged. "Have you had lunch yet, lad?"

Fíli plucked up a tin from a nearby shelf, looking it over. It was only about the size of his palm, but it painted in bright red and read 'Very hot!'. "No. I've spent all day trying to dodge Dwalin. I even went places I don't normally visit, but he managed to nearly spot me twice." Opening the tin, he sniffed its powdery contents only to thrust it away from himself, coughing. "What is in this?!"

Dori took the tin from him, closing it. "A very potent type of pepper," he mused. "Used quite frequently in dishes found in the eastern lands. Very good in beef stew, too!" Setting the tin back on the shelf, he glanced at Fíli, watching as the prince blew his nose in a handkerchief. "You're lucky none of it got into your eyes, lad; elsewise, you wouldn't see for a few days."

"Well, at least I can smell everything now," Fíli groaned, noticing that his sinuses were clearer than ever. "I really should just heed the label's warning next time…" He gave the room a cautionary look around. "So that's the sort of thing you sell here? Hot pepper powders?"

"Oh, ancient blessings, no!" he laughed. "I have all sorts of things from fine perfumes to rare herbs to even rarer wines. You should know that by now!" He plucked up a wooden box from a different shelf. "This, for example, contains incense that's hard to find outside of South Harad. They call it 'sandalwood'. Yes, it's safe to smell." Opening the box just a crack, he held it up to Fíli's nose.

Fíli was pleasantly surprised. "Mother uses that!" he blinked, startled. "She mixes it with jasmine and uses it in her soap."

Closing the box once more, Dori nodded. "Aye, it's one of her favorite scents. She was quite relieved when she received a fresh shipment of sandalwood oil yesterday." He set it back on the shelf before lightly dusting his hands off on his tunic. "It costs almost as much gold to import that as it does to import ice wine –at least, the _good _ice wine."

"Ice wine is ice wine," Fíli chuckled. "It's all good –and costs an arm and a leg to procure."

Dori shook his head, smiling. "No, my lad, there is most definitely a difference between varieties! The farther north you go, the better the taste. That's why I only stock wine from a tiny village called Jä-Kuru. It's probably the northernmost city in Middle Earth and their wine is most delectable." He beckoned Fíli to follow him into the back room. "As is their seafood."

"Have you been that far north?" Fíli asked, following. Entering the back room, he found that it was both a storage room and a kitchen, quite normal for a dwarven establishment.

"Once." He added some peat to the coals in the hearth and put a kettle overtop to begin heating. "And I must say, it was absolutely freezing!" He began to busy himself with slicing ultra-thin pieces of cured meat from a large ham. "It's the only reason I haven't been back."

Fíli laughed. "Maybe you should have gone in summer instead?" Picking up a plate of biscuits, he moved them to the hearth so they could warm.

"It _was_ summer," Dori informed, "but when you're so far north, there are only two seasons: Winter and winter-that-isn't-as-cold. The cheese is on the bottom shelf –yes, there you go. I suggested the blue cheese."

"You mean this one?" He held up the half wheel of white-and-blue cheese, his brow raised. "It's covered in mold."

"That, my lad, is _flavor_." Plucking the cheese from the prince's hands, Dori carefully took a small crumble from it and offered it to Fíli. "Try it. Just a mouthful."

Cautiously taking the piece, Fíli smelled it; it had a strong, strange scent to it. He trusted Dori's palate, however, and popped it into his mouth. It tasted odd –certainly not like any cheese he had eaten before- but it wasn't bad. It also wasn't something he would eat every day, though he had to admit it would go well with the ham.

"It's alright," he told Dori. "A bit too strong for me on a normal day, but it should go well with the ham and biscuits."

"Good," Dori smiled, "because it's what we're having for lunch." He laid out a final slice of ham on a plate before beginning to slice up some tomatoes. "Now, what lessons are you skipping out on today? They must surely be boring ones if you've decided to hang around me for this long." He neatly laid the slices of tomato alongside the ham before cutting the blue cheese.

His cheeks turning a bit pink, Fíli frowned. "Contrary to popular belief, I find you interesting to be around," he told him, his tone sincere. "And you're certainly preferable to my clan lessons."

At that, Dori seemed to brighten. "Oh? And what clans are you learning about, lad?" He carried the plate over to the table, setting it in the middle.

Turning the biscuits so they heated evenly, Fíli let out a long, tired sigh. "The eastern clans. Normally, Balin's a good teacher, but…" He shook his head. "Lessons have just been so boring of late –especially since Kíli doesn't have to sit through three-quarters of them."

"Oh? But the eastern clans are so interesting!" Grabbing a teapot, he filled tossed some leaves into it before pouring the now-steaming kettle water in. "They're quite different from us in many respects." He tossed two teacups to Fíli, who easily caught them.

"They don't sound very different –except the Ironfists. They sound like they'd get along with a rabble of orcs," he chuckled, setting the cups down.

Dori scrunched his nose up at the mere mention of the clan. "Yes, well…the Ironfists are…a _special _clan," he admitted. "But, yes, I will admit Balin isn't entirely equipped with the knowledge it takes to educate others on the eastern clans and their way of life."

Fíli glanced over his shoulder at him. "I take it you've been to the east once as well?"

"Oh, no –three times. One time was to drag Nori back to Ered Luin, so I didn't stay very long." Taking up a pot of mustard and a pot of honey from a shelf, he set it on the table as well before finally sitting. "But they are quite interesting. Much cleaner than us! And certainly a lot more musical. They're always trying to find some excuse to sing or dance."

Fíli brought over the biscuits and sat down, rubbing his right knee as it ached slightly. "Really? They sound a lot more fun than what Balin was leading me to think."

"Oh, they certainly love their fun, that's for sure, but don't be fooled." He poured them each a cup of tea. "They are very hardworking and can be _extremely _strict when it comes to their social order." Taking one of the biscuits, he cut it in half before spreading some mustard on the bottom half. "They've a different kind of society over there than what we in the west have. It's not a bad thing, but we outsiders would think it hard."

Nodding, Fíli copied his actions. "That's what Balin was saying. Something like if you're born a miner, you'll always be a miner unless you manage to make an incredible find or you lose a limb and can't work anymore."

"Or you managed to make an excellent marriage arrangement," he added. "In that case, it all depends on how well-liked by the local governor you are." Taking a slice of ham, he started to layer meat and cheese. "Or how large of a bribe you give them."

Fíli cocked his brow. "Bribe? But they're the richest clans; why would they need bribes of all things?" He let out a small laugh.

Dori gave him a look, silencing the laugh. "Where the wealth flows aplenty, so does the corruption and the gold sickness." As the prince cringed, Dori knew he had made his point. "Our brethren in the east can be greedy blighters, but that's not to say they're all like that. I know for a fact that the Stonefoots are rather lenient in their ways; why, they're practically like us! They're also rather levelheaded, as are the Blacklocks. The Stiffbeards can be a bit…chancy to trade with at times, but it's the Ironfists you never want to deal with." He shook his head.

He glanced up as he poured a little honey atop the slice of ham and crumbles of blue cheese. "Because they're betrayers to Durin's Folk?"

"Betrayers is putting it lightly, lad. They're greedy, violent, and downright uncouth!" Shaking his head a second time, he took a bite out of his biscuit creation. "No, my lad, you never want to deal with the Ironfists. When you become king, pray for Mahal's mercy; we haven't had contact with that clan in almost an age, and we don't want it again anytime soon."

* * *

Hoisting one of the heavy baskets of ice berries from the cart and onto her shoulder, Gytha carried it over to an enormous barrel. She carefully spilled the berries into the barrel, watching at they rolled and bounced against thousands of other berries. Brushing a red curl from her face, she tossed the basket aside and sighed before moving to return to the cart and repeat the process for the twentieth time that hour.

Normally, there would be a dozen other dwarves helping her, but with the sun having yet to rise, most were still asleep. Instead, it the room was void of life save for herself and for the bold hen that had escaped its coop. Lifting another basket, she let out a soft curse as it wobbled and almost toppled to the ground, but she was able to correct its balance with only a few berries falling to the floor. The hen dashed over and pecked at the berries, greedily eating them.

"I'm glad you're getting a decent breakfast," mused Gytha as she walked to the barrel. "Mahal only knows when I'll get mine, what with that meeting taking place." Rolling her eyes at the thought, she yanked yet another basket towards her. Dumping the basket, she looked down into the barrel; the berries came almost three-quarters of the way up its sides.

She grabbed a small handful of the berries and crouched down, offering a few of them to the hen. The hen cautiously approached her, eyeing the berries suspiciously. When Gytha ate some of them, she deemed them safe and lightly pecked them from her palm, quietly clucking the whole time. With a sigh, Gytha reached over and lightly stroked her feathers.

"You would think, since I am her daughter, I'd be allowed to find out how my mother came to be kidnapped, wouldn't you?" she quietly asked the hen, not expecting her to reply. "Apparently, though, the mere sight of me would throw father into hysterics…" She gently picked the hen up and cradled her against her form, continuing to stroke the golden feathers. "I just want to know what happened to mother…"

"Gytha? Who are you talking to?"

She bolted upright, her eyes wide. Standing some yards away was her uncle, his brow raised as he looked at her. "N-No one, uncle," she replied, setting the chicken down. "Is the meeting over then?" She went back to the cart and grabbed a basket.

Drahomír let out a heavy sigh as he walked towards her. "No, but I heard everything I needed to hear." He watched as his niece carried the basket to the closest of the large barrels. She had to stand on tiptoe in order to pour the berries into it without damage. "Your father and mother were in Aeareryn when Chiamaka was kidnapped."

At this news, Gytha frowned. "But Aeareryn is one of the safest cities near the Red Mountains. I've been there; the city-guard is reliable, the wall structurally sound, and the corruption low!"

"That was nearly forty years ago, mifûnakmâ. Things have and are changing over there." When he rubbed his temples in frustration, Gytha could see the weariness lining her uncle's face; he hadn't slept that night. "Why would Uzninhadâl want my sister…?" he mumbled, more to himself than to his niece.

"Are they sending anyone after her?"

Drahomír glanced up. "Are who sending anyone after her?"

"Grandmother and grandfather."

Shaking his head, he tucked a dark dreadlock behind his ear. "No. They can't." There was a bitterness in his voice that Gytha had never heard before. "The snows are coming early; Dikeledi said that Sûri-Kylä already has nearly six inches of snow. It'll be here any day and surely 'gift' us with more than just six inches."

Gytha knew full well that once the snow came, it wouldn't leave until late spring at the least; sometimes the snows wouldn't leave until early summer. They were the deadliest part of living so far north. Not only could they freeze a person, but they also made finding food nearly impossible –that's why the fishermen and hunters spent weeks building up supplies of smoked and cured meat.

She also knew, however, that she couldn't let her mother be a prisoner any longer than she had to.

"I'll go," she told her uncle.

Drahomír looked at her as if she were crazy. "What?"

"I'll go after mother."

"Gytha, you can't –the snows are coming. What if you get-"

"I don't give a damn about the snows, uncle. One person with a sledge can easily outrun them, especially if they're going south."

"Sûri-Kylä _is_ south of us, Gytha, and if they've already got snow, imagine how bad the rest of the tundra will be. It would be suicide!"

Sighing, she scratched her beard as she mulled over his words. "Six inches isn't bad," she spoke at last. "If I were to leave tonight and follow the road, I can reach the outskirts of Arnor before the week is ended _and _before the snows got any worse. For all we know, it was a mere flurry, nothing more."

He shook his head. "Gytha, I can't let you go –not alone, at the least. One dwarrow dame against a being as powerful as Uzninhadâl? You would die."

Her brow rose. "You can't leave Tivadar and Lesedi, especially for such a dangerous mission. Two dwarrows isn't going to make much of a difference. One dwarrow, however, can travel fast and wouldn't need as many provisions. I know how to protect myself and I know who our contacts in the east are. If you could manage to get me a list of those who are still friends to us, I would be able to strike deals with them to help get mother back."

For a long moment, Drahomír was silent as he looked at his niece. There was no fear in her grey eyes as she met his gaze and her jaw was slightly raised in determination. A sigh left his mouth; she looked so very much like his sister. The only differences between them were Gytha's fiery hair and lighter skin. Shaking his head, he finally turned away, his shoulders slouching in defeat.

"You can't tell anyone," he told her, "especially Masika and Miksa. If they find out before you leave, they'll throw you in chains to make sure you stay here."

Her brows furrowed. "Why? Because I want to rescue my mother?"

"No. Besides your grandmother, you're the eldest female. With your mother gone, it's your duty to not only take care of the family, but to oversee the clan and the business." He glanced over his shoulder at her, a pitying look on his face. "Leaving –even if it means saving Chiamaka- could mean being exiled from the clan."

Gytha swallowed hard; she knew well enough that exile from a clan was a serious matter. Dwarrows who had been exiled lost all their business contacts, all their friends, and even their spouses and children if they had been married. Even if they managed to restart their life, an exiled dwarrow would find things to be much harder –work would be hard to find, business associates would be wary of agreeing to partnerships, and families impossible to regain.

Despite knowing this, she straightened up a little more. "I'm willing to risk that," she told her uncle. "Mother is more important to the clan than I am. She's the paste that holds us together."

He slowly nodded. "I knew you would say that," he admitted, "but I wanted to warn you, regardless, of how you're risking much more than your life and your mother's." Setting his hands on her shoulders, he gave her a small, hopeful smile. "I will help you in any way that I can, but you _must _leave tonight. Do you understand? _Tonight_."

She nodded as well. "I'll leave during the party. Everyone will be too concerned about food and the mashing of the berries to notice one person missing."

"I can only hope you're right about that. Come; I'll have Ehsan and Havel finish up here. I'll tell everyone you're not feeling well and to leave you be. You need to pack."

* * *

"You hid from Dwalin, despite knowing that you had lessons to attend to?"

"Yes, uncle."

"Lessons that are meant to help you become a better ruler come the time when I pass my crown to you."

"…Yes, uncle."

Thorin looked down at Fíli, who knelt before the throne. The prince did not meet his stern gaze; rather, he stared at the floor, wearing a mixed look of guilt and weariness. Leaning his head into his palm, Thorin let out a heavy, disappointed sigh and closed his eyes.

"Fíli, you can't keep doing this," he grumbled at last. "That's the second time this week –the _fourth _time this month. You're one hundred and eighteen, for Mahal's sake! You're far too old for this childish nonsense."

Fíli winced at his words. "I'm sorry, uncle-"

"You've said that so many times before, Fíli. It's useless to lie."

Risking a peek up at the king, Fíli bit his lip. Despite being clad in his regal furs and crown, Thorin looked more like an exhausted parent than a king. "Uncle, it's just…" he quietly began, but he faltered, unable to tell Thorin the truth.

"It's just what?" Thorin sighed, opening an eye to look at his nephew. "I know your lessons are tedious; Dís and I had to sit through the same ones when we were your age-"

"It's not that, uncle –well, it kind of is, but the thing is…" He rubbed the back of his neck and looked back at the floor, trying to come up with a believable lie. "You're always saying that you, mother, and Uncle Frerin had to sit through these lessons even though _you _were heir. If that's the truth, then why aren't you making Kíli sit through the lessons as well?"

Thorin's brow rose. "That's why you've been skipping classes…? Because Kíli doesn't have them?" he questioned, sitting up a bit.

"Well, it's certainly not fair," Fíli retorted. "After all, he is also a prince and one of your heirs. Shouldn't he sit through Balin's lectures on the incarnations of Durin and the best ways to get a Blacklock to agree to a trading agreement?" He frowned as Thorin, surprisingly, laughed.

"Then Kíli has not told you what he's been forced to sit through?" he asked, his voice shaking a bit from the laughter. Fíli shook his head. "While you have been learning to be the heir of my kingdom, Fíli, your brother has been attending lessons on elvish society. With his engagement to Tauriel, it's crucial that he learns their ways well enough to not make a fool of himself –and, consequently, dwarrowkind- while in Thranduil's courts."

"I'd rather sit through the elvish lecture," Fíli muttered under his breath. "Regardless, uncle, don't you think that all these lessons are…well, a little unneeded? I understand your need to have me attend council meetings, having me learn about the eastern clans, and the trips to the outer defenses, but having to sit through clan histories, royal etiquette, and mathematics? Uncle, I learned all of those when I was a child. As for mathematics, I use those on an almost daily basis."

Thorin rubbed his temple as he let out a heavy sigh. "Perhaps you are too old for the lessons on etiquette and mathematics," he admitted, "but you need to learn of our histories, Fíli. They are an important part of our lives and the reason for why our family is what we are today."

"But I know that Durin was the first of the Seven Fathers to awaken; I know that he, alone of the seven, has been reborn throughout the ages." He stood up, hiding a wince as his right leg ached with the sudden movement. "I know that Erebor came to be because of Thráin I and that some of his people, with his son went to Ered Mithrin-"

"While that history is important, there are other things you must learn," Thorin gently told him, "such as the story of how we dwarrows came into being or the strife of Mount Gundabad. Those are the histories you need to learn –they are the foundations of our people."

Standing up, he descended the three steps and walked over to his nephew, setting his hand on his shoulder. He started to lead him out of the throne room, towards the kitchens. "I will tell Balin to cease your mathematics lessons and, come dinner, we'll tell your mother that you no longer need to be taught etiquette. And…You'll have history twice a week. Does that sound satisfactory to you?"

Fíli smiled and nodded. "That sounds much more pleasant. Thank you, uncle."

"Do not think this means you're not in trouble, however." He glanced at him from the corner of his eye, watching as the smile quickly faded. "You skipped four days' worth of lessons this month; I can't let that pass without punishment. As such…" He stopped walking as they reached the door to the kitchens. "You will not be going with Kíli, Ori, and Dwalin to the Iron Hills in two months."

His jaw dropped; normally, Fíli was quite good at masking his emotions but such was the devastation of his punishment that he couldn't help but show his utter shock. "But…but, uncle, we've been planning for the Yule festival in the Iron Hills for _months_! I have to go with them!"

Shaking his head, Thorin straightened his posture –a sign that he meant business. "Four times you skipped lesson days and four times you lied to me."

Swallowing hard, Fíli also straightened up –a habit he had unconsciously picked up from his uncle. "Uncle, you yourself said that it would be an excellent opportunity for me-"

"I could be crueler and say that you also cannot attend the Durin's Day festival in Dale next month," Thorin interrupted, his brow rising.

Fíli instantly shut his mouth, though he kept his chin raised, showing that he wouldn't let his punishment bring him down. "Then I accept your ruling," he quietly told his uncle. "Thank you, again, for lessening my lessons, uncle. I'll see you at dinner." Before Thorin could say anything further, he turned and walked down the hallway. Taking the nearest staircase, he went up to the third floor of the palace and down the hall to his room.

Once he was sure he was totally alone in his room and he had lit a couple of candles, he pulled his knitting basket out and curled up in the corner of his bed. 'I'm sure he skipped out on plenty of lessons when he was my age,' he thought, continuing work on the mossy-green cowl. 'And I'm positive his punishments were less harsh than this.'

In the middle of his third row, his knee began to ache from the position he had thrown himself into. Shifting his legs, he stretched his right leg out before him and lightly massaged his knee, easing the pain away. His eyes glanced to the corner beside his bed, where a sturdy, oak crutch leaned. There was a thin layer of dust coating the wood from years of disuse.

Shaking his head, he leaned back and picked up his knitting once more. 'I'll have to have Bifur take a look at it next time I'm in Dale,' he thought with a small frown. 'Which shouldn't be too far away, since Fíli and I were going there this weekend…'

Soon enough, he was lost to the calming repetitiveness of his work. His anger and disappointment faded away as he added five rows of gold yarn, working in a different pattern than the green. By the time he was knitting with the green again, he wore a pleasant smile and was even quietly humming to himself.

Unbeknownst to the prince, three hours had passed him by. His room grew dark thanks to the candles burning down, but he hadn't noticed. It was only as a quick, familiar knock rang out through the silence that he was drawn from his work.

"Huh?" he mumbled, looking up. "Who is it?" He began to hurriedly put his things away.

"Kíli," came his brother's voice. "Did I wake you?"

Tucking the basket under his bed, Fíli lightly tousled his hair. "Come in. And…yes, you woke me. Don't worry. I needed to get up."

Kíli opened the door, poking his head in first to make sure his brother's room wasn't booby-trapped. Finding Fíli lighting some fresh candles, he smiled and stepped in, bearing a plate of warm food for his brother.

"You missed dinner," he told him, closing the door. "Mother was concerned; she said she summoned you and you replied, but you never came down."

"Did she? Guess I must've answered in my sleep then. I had a bit of a long day." He thanked Kíli as he took the plate and sat down on his bed once more.

Kíli nodded, a grave look coming to his features. "So I heard. Frankly, I don't think that was very fair of uncle. Mother doesn't think it's very fair, either, but agrees that a punishment was deserved."

For a moment, Fíli had to think about what his brother meant, having almost completely forgotten about his sentence while knitting. "Ah…Aye, I don't think it's fair, either. Completely uncalled for. I'd rather he bar me from the Durin's Day festival, but we _all _have to go to that."

"Forty years since the reclaiming of Dale and Erebor? Aye, that's a bit of a big deal." Kíli gave his brother a sorrowful smile. "At least we'll have some fun together there!"

At that, Fíli laughed. "Fun? You're going to be a nervous wreck. You have to publically announce your engagement to Tauriel to our people!"

Kíli's face fell. "Don't remind me. I mean, everyone already knows about it, but…" He scrunched his nose up and looked towards the window. "I don't like all of the attention being on me."

"It'll mostly be on Tauriel, to be honest. After all, she's an elf marrying into a noble dwarrow family." He chuckled, offering Kíli his green beans; he had never been a fan of them. "The two of you will do fine, though. Our people love both her and you, so you have nothing to worry about."

Happily taking the vegetables, Kíli popped three of the beans into his mouth. "That may be so, but…I still worry. There are dwarrows out there who dislike my nûlukhinh and I can only pray to Mahal that they won't voice their opinions of her on that day." He sighed and looked down at his handful of beans.

Fíli set his hand on Kíli's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "If anyone tries to insult her, I will personally cut out their tongues," he told him. "Though, I don't know who would insult her…after all, she's the very reason the three of us are alive."

Nodding, Kíli ate another couple of beans. "She is. Twice, for me." He scratched at his beard, sighing, before glancing at his brother and smiling. "Remember the look on uncle's face when I told him that I was going to court her?"

Fíli let out a laugh. "Of course I do! He nearly fainted from shock." He imitated the look of horror and surprise that Thorin had worn years ago when Kíli had announced at dinner that he would be courting the elven woman. The expression sent Kíli into a fit of giggles. "Mother was torn between laughing at him and congratulating you."

Biting his lower lip, a cheeky grin spread across the younger prince's face. "How horrible is it of me that I wish he _had _fainted?"

"Now why would you want that?"

"If he had fainted and had fallen forward, he would have landed in his blackberry pie."

At that, Fíli couldn't help but burst out laughing as well. "What a waste of a good pie, though! Miss Baylee made those specifically for uncle's birthday!"

Kíli shrugged, still wearing a grin. "But you have to admit –it would have been hilarious. Uncle's face and beard covered in blackberry goop with bits and pieces of crust sticking to his eyebrows and nose…"

Fíli nodded in agreement, also grinning. "It certainly would have been."

* * *

She had been right about how easy it would be to sneak away during the party.

By the time the festivities had begun, most families were already dancing around and celebrating not only the juicing of the ice berries, but also the return of the hunters and the traders. Gytha had already assembled her packs together, gathering up a mixture of food, blankets, spare clothes, and gold for her trip. Drahomír had helped her quite a bit; he had loaned her his oilskin bags and his thickest cloak. He had also given her a pair of punching daggers –katars, he had called them.

"They were made for a dwarrow general back in the Mountains," he had told her, "so they're of the finest quality. They will keep you safe."

She didn't ask how they had come into his possession.

When the sun was just beginning to set beyond the ocean, she crept, unnoticed, into the barn. Taking a sledge and harnessing her bull moose, Ûmkhi, had been easy enough; if it weren't for the bull's enormous size, she could have done it with her eyes closed. She remembered hearing the music drifting over the walls from the party taking place in the courtyard and how it made her long to dance. Instead, she mounted the sledge and flicked the reins.

That had been nearly four hours ago.

The night now found her sitting before a small fire, her back pressed against a tree. Ûmkhi she had tethered to a tree, preventing him from wandering off during the night. She carved a slice from an apple and popped it into her mouth and sighed, slowly chewing it as she rested her head against the tree. Through its branches, she was just barely able to see the position of the moon.

'They probably haven't noticed that I'm gone yet,' she thought, eyes closing. 'I hope Drahomír keeps quiet. I don't want him getting in trouble on my account…gamilamad and gamiladad were already prepared to disinherit him.'

Putting another slice of apple in her mouth, she let this one linger on her tongue for a while. Apples, while not uncommon that far north, were still a rare treat when fresh. She wanted to savor its flavor while she still could.

After some time, she reached over and pulled a sheet of parchment from her bag. Unfolding it, she read over the instructions her uncle had scrawled out. "Trade moose for a pony or two in Fynti-Feldot with a man named Kurn and pay to have him bring moose back. Restock your supplies everywhere you can –even if you think you have enough," she quietly read aloud.

A sigh left her mouth only to turn into a soft yelp as Ûmkhi leaned his head down a bit, nudging her cheek affectionately. Laughing, she shook her head and scratched his chin. "Yes, I'm afraid our journey together is going to be a short one," she told him, patting his large nose. "But you got out of Jä-Kuru for a little while, right? That has got to count for something"

He snorted in what seemed to be agreement before going back and chewing his cud.

Tilting the page so the firelight better illuminated it, Gytha continued reading. "When I reach the Red Mountains, I'm to search out a human woman named Belakane who lives in Sakal an-Khâr…Belakane? I know that name from somewhere." Scratching her beard, she fell silent as she tried to recall where she had seen or heard the name 'Belakane' before. After a few minutes, however, she gave up and sliced off the final bit of apple from the core.

"Bet you like that, huh?" she murmured, stretching her arm way up so that the moose could take it from her. "They're a good treat for us northerners."

Something suddenly snapped a branch in the distance and she turned her head towards the noise. Her eyes narrowing, she tried to peer through the darkness, but it was to no avail. No growling or snarling could be heard, so she knew it couldn't be wolves.

'A cougar, maybe?' she thought, loosening one of her katars in their holder. 'I doubt it, though –they're normally silent and hunt from above. Maybe it was just a deer?'

Two minutes passed by and she heard nothing else. Despite this, she did not lower her guard –in fact, she raised it further and unsheathed her katar, keeping it tucked against her side. She huddled herself further into the trunk of the tree, tucking one leg beneath her as she kept an ear out for any other noises. Ûmkhi, however, remained calm as he stood near the tree, his head turning as he surveyed their surroundings.

For some minutes, she could only hear the sounds of the fire crackling and the moose chewing away at his cud. Soon enough, though, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching her camp –whatever was walking was also dragging something behind it. Closing her eyes, she listened hard, seeing what direction they were coming from –a hard task, when even the slightest noise echoed off the tree trunks.

The steps were drawing closer. Raising his head, Ûmkhi turned and stared into the darkness beyond the cedars. Still, he neither sensed nor smelled danger. He returned to his meal.

Gytha cautiously leaned forward, adding another branch to the fire when it threatened to die down. It was at that moment that a figure stepped out of the shadows and Gytha leapt to her feet, defensively holding the katar in front of her. It was useless, however, as the person quickly knocked her arm aside and tackled her. With a curse, she fell back, feeling their weight crashing down atop her. Luck was on her side and she threw her weight into rolling them over, straddling the person with one hand pinning them down, the other holding the blade just above their throat.

The moment she saw who was beneath her, she lowered it.

"Jahangir?" she gaped. "What in the name of the Fathers are you doing out here?!"

He frowned as he looked up at her, small twigs and fir needles sticking out of his beard. "Funny. I was just about to ask you the same thing," he dryly told her. He sat up as Gytha crawled off of him and sheathed her weapon. "Do you realize how worried you've made everyone?"

Grabbing some branches and starting to break them into smaller pieces, Gytha let out a quiet sigh. "I didn't think anyone would notice," she admitted, "at least, not until I was a bit farther south. I thought everyone would be too drunk."

"Well, I haven't had a drop to drink thanks to you," he grumbled. "I was bringing you some soup when I found your room all empty like that. It's probably still sitting on your table, getting cold…" He looked at the fire. "You built that wrong."

"It seems to be burning quite well to me." She added some branches to it.

"It is for an indoor fire, but that's not a good outdoors fire." He shook his head and rubbed his forehead. "Gytha, what in Mahal's name are you even doing out here? Especially with snows coming!"

She gave him a long, dry look. "You really need to ask?"

He quietly cursed and rubbed his forehead. "You're smarter than this, Gytha –you know going after your mother is a fool's errand-"

"It's not nearly as foolish as waiting until the summer thaw to send any sort of help," she argued. "I know, I know: One dwarrow dame against a dark sorcerer almost certainly means death. But _someone _has to go after her."

Jahangir stared at her, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of regret, anger, and guilt. Finally, he tiredly rubbed his face. "You could be exiled for this, you know."

"I probably will."

His brow rose. "And you know that I'm not going back to the clan without you, right?" Getting to his feet, he unhitched his bull and tethered him to a tree some yards away from Gytha's moose.

She glanced up. "No, you're not. Come sunrise, you're going straight back to the clan."

"As I said, I'm not returning without you. If that means risking my life to try and save Chiamaka, then so be it." He sat down beside her and pulled his knees to his chest. "I'm your fiancé; I'm not letting you do this alone." Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he let Gytha rest her head on his shoulder. "Whatever happens, we will stick together. Whether we like it or not, that is our fate…And, together, we'll unleash hell on whoever took your mother."

"Thank you."

Looking down at her, he gave her a small smile before kissing her forehead. "That's what friends are for."

For a long while, the two of them were silent. As the fire started to die down once again, Gytha leaned forward and fed it, muttering something about how she would run out of sticks at the rate it was burning. Jahangir shook his head as he watched her.

"Tomorrow, I'm showing you how to build a proper fire," he mumbled under his breath.


	3. Strange Company

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long...because of a mixture of some anon hate on tumblr and some stress in my real life I lost a bit of inspiration for writing any fanfiction for awhile. Truthfully, I still don't have much fanfic inspiration, but I managed to crank out the last bit of this chapter. I just hope it doesn't suck too much.

* * *

Chapter Three: Strange Company 

It was a long road from West Farthing to Bree -at least, it seemed to be a long road when one was a hobbit lass who wasn't used to traveling much more than the distance between Tuckborough and Frogmorton. Things would have been a bit easier if the weather, normally cool and clear during mid-autumn, would have cooperated. Instead, as Mistletoe and her companion –another hobbit lass- Took traveled east, they had been surprised by sudden rainstorms on more than one occasion.

Mistletoe had always wanted to go on an adventure. When she was young, she and her siblings had listened to their cousin, Bilbo's, tales of fighting goblins in the Misty Mountains and escaping giant spiders in the depths of Mirkwood forest. She supposed it was due to her Took blood; members of the Took clan always managed to get their hands into some sort of mischief.

As for whether her companion had wanted to go on an adventure or not, she was unsure: Mistletoe only knew that, at the moment, she was being passionately fussy about avoiding sleep.

"Bramblerose, you silly girl! I've sung your favorite lullaby three times now! Why aren't you napping?" She looked down at the child strapped to her chest, watching as her daughter tried to see each and every bit of flora they passed.

As Mistletoe glanced around, a shiver ran down her spine and she brought her cloak closer about the two of them. The road she was walking on was bordered on the south by the Old Forest, a queer and dangerous forest that liked to waylay strangers. Even though she was safe on the main road, Mistletoe still felt a strange sense of foreboding whenever she glanced towards the trees. More than once, she swore she saw the ancient plants inch closer to the road.

A bird suddenly flew out of a nearby bush and Mistletoe jumped back; Bramblerose squealed in delight and squirmed, trying to watch as the creature glided away. Her heart racing, Mistletoe shook her head and put a hand on her forehead.

"If you're going to jump at every little thing," she scolded herself, "then you should have never stepped foot outside the Shire. Buck up, Mistletoe!" Shaking her head, she started to walk once more, her eyes defiantly gazing at the road ahead of her.

Bramblerose cooed and tried to grab at the embroidery on the front of her mother's dress. When Mistletoe glanced down, she could see her rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Shall we try the lullaby again, sweet?" she softly inquired.

Looking up at Mistletoe with large, brown eyes, Bramblerose blew a sloppy raspberry at her mother. She then giggled, trying to twist and turn about in her harness, her honey-colored curls bouncing about her chubby cheeks. Mistletoe smiled and rolled her eyes before beginning to sing.

_'Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

_Go to sleepy little baby_

_When you wake, you shall have_

_All the pretty little horses_

_Paint and bay, sorrel and grey_

_All the pretty little ponies_

_So hush-a-bye, don't you cry, _

_Go to sleepy, little baby_

_Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, _

_Go to sleepy little baby_

_When you wake, you shall have_

_All the pretty little horses_

_Blacks and bays, dapples and greys_

_Coach and six a-little horses_

_When you wake you shall have_

_All the pretty little-_

She paused, hearing something in the distance. Turning, she could see two riders and a mule trotting down the road towards her. Out of politeness, she moved over to the right so that they could pass without running into her. The movement, however, also brought her closer to the forest. Swallowing hard, she did her best to avoid looking at the trees.

'Ignore the trees,' she mentally told herself. Glancing down at Bramblerose, she smiled; the little girl was fast asleep. She tilted her head down and kissed the top of her head.

Soon enough, the riders drew near and they slowed the pace of their horses. "Excuse me?" one of them hearkened.

Mistletoe glanced up and was more than a little surprised to see a pair of dwarves looking down at her; she had been expecting Big Folk. It wasn't often that dwarves rode horses, after all. "Y-yes?"

A dwarf with red hair gave her a small, drained, smile. "Does this road lead to Bree?" they softly asked, having spotted the sleeping child.

"It is," she replied, offering a smile in return. "It's about five more miles; two east and then three south. At least, according to my map it is."

Turning to their (she was unable to tell if they were male or female, since both had beards when it came to dwarves) companion, the redhead grinned. "I told you we were following the right path. The Old Forest was too far south." Mistletoe couldn't help but notice that they had a strange accent that she hadn't heard before; the dwarves of Ered Luin certainly didn't sound like that…

"Udùnin nîthyûr dâg," the gold-haired one shrugged, looking away. Leaning to the side ever so slightly, Mistletoe could see that they wore a wolf's pelt around their shoulders.

"The map is not poorly drawn," they quietly hissed, pushing a stray lock of hair from their face before turning back to Mistletoe. "Thank you for your help," they told her, giving her a small nod of thanks.

Mistletoe watched as the dwarves and their mule trotted down the road, her ears able to hear snippets of their conversation until they were some ways away. What they were talking about, though, she would never know –they spoke in a foreign tongue.

'I wonder what business they have in Bree?' she thought, glancing at the sky. A heavy sigh left her mouth when she found dark, heavy clouds rolling in from the west. 'Whatever it is, I'm sure they'll be dry when they reach the city, unlike me.' Looking at her daughter, she found Bramblerose fast asleep, her little hands balled into fists as they rested against the gold fabric of her bodice. 'Just when you fell asleep, I have to-'

"Eh…Miss?"

Mistletoe had been so lost in her thoughts she had failed to notice the redheaded dwarf doubling back towards her. She let out a small curse in surprise, but managed to retain most of her composure. "Yes?"

The dwarf gave her an apologetic look. "Are you heading to Bree?"

She nodded and brushed some hair from her face. "I am. Why do you ask?"

"Would you like a ride?"

"…A ride would be lovely," she admitted, "but I wouldn't want to impose."

The dwarf smiled before dismounting their horse with surprising ease. "There is rain is coming; I wouldn't want you and your little one to be caught in such weather," they explained as they cleared some room on the mule's back.

"Th-thank you, thank you very much," Mistletoe stammered, somewhat taken aback by their kindness. "I very much appreciate it. If you'd like, I've some money on me to make myself even less of a bother…"

"Keep your gold, Mistress Hobbit. I'm sure it can be put to better use." They then curtsied, letting Mistletoe finally know that this was a female dwarf. "Gytha, at your service."

Somewhat awkwardly returning the curtsy thanks to her child, Mistletoe gave her a shy smile. "Mistletoe Took at yours," she responded. She glanced down the road, where Gytha's companion waited.

"My surly companion there is Jahangir Wolfskinner," Gytha answered before she could ask. "I apologize in advance if he seems rude. He…isn't entirely fond of strangers." As she helped the hobbit onto the mule, she let out a quiet sigh. "It's not without reason, however –three days ago, we were attacked by bandits and he's been overly cautious since."

"Bandits?" Mistletoe squeaked as she was set on the mule. "That close to the Shire!? That doesn't sound good at all!" Swallowing hard, she unconsciously brought Bramblerose closer to her. 'If there are thieves about, then maybe I shouldn't have left Tuckborough!' she thought. 'But…I needed to leave. Anyway, the bandits are in the opposite direction that I'm going. That should mean I'm safe, right? By Yavanna's grace, I hope so!'

"I assure you, Mistress Took, that the thieves won't be harassing anyone for a long while." She mounted her horse and flicked the reins; the stallion started to trot off once again. "We made quite sure of that."

Tilting her head, she curiously looked at the dwarf. "You fought them off?"

Gytha nodded. "It wasn't much of a fight, to be honest. There were only five."

"But there are only two of you! Surely, five Big Folk against two dwarves had to have been difficult? Well…if they were Big Folk, that is…"

"'Big Folk'? Is that what Hobbits call humans?" When Mistletoe nodded, she chuckled. "Well, then yes, they were humans, but 'Big Folk' are not much of a challenge for us dwarves. If they had been goblins, the fight may have gone differently."

Mistletoe nodded in understanding as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Well…I'm sorry the two of you ran into such horrible people. At least the road to Bree should be quite peaceful. It has been for me so far."

Raising her brow, Gytha glanced over her shoulder at the hobbit. "And why is a lass such as yourself going to Bree? If you do not mind my asking, that is."

Her cheeks flushing, Mistletoe glanced down at the cloth on the mule's back. "Oh. Well…erm, I just felt the need to get out of the Shire for a little while. Take a little break from all the coddling that a large family brings. That sort of thing." She smiled shyly. "And what about the two of you?"

"We'll be restocking our supplies before traveling to Erebor," replied Gytha.

By now, they had caught up to Jahangir, who had pulled the hood of his wolf-skin cloak up. His face was now almost entirely masked by the face of a wolf; Mistletoe felt a bit unsettled by his appearance. He gave a cursory glance towards the hobbit before looking back at the road ahead.

Both dwarves, Mistletoe noticed, wore clothing that mostly consisted of fur and wool. Jahangir was by far the more colorful of the two, with his clothing being an assortment of rich browns and greens with pops of yellow and turquoise. Gytha, however, wore varying shades of grey that only had touches of blue and purple around the collar of her undervest and on the strange, cloth tiara she wore. While Jahangir wore a wolf's skin as his cloak, Gytha's was plain, black cloth.

"Where are you from?" Mistletoe blurted out, causing both Gytha and Jahangir to give her strange looks. Her cheeks instantly becoming bright red, she covered her mouth. "I-I'm sorry, it's just your clothing…I've never seen anything like it."

"From north," Jahangir replied in broken common speech, his tone betraying his annoyance, "where is winter most of year."

Gytha sighed and glared at Jahangir. "We're from a small village called Jä-Kuru," she elaborated, "on the shores of the Ice Bay. It is almost a month's journey from here."

"Oh," Mistletoe murmured. "I didn't know any folk lived that far north."

She smiled. "Not many do."

* * *

Sleep was not coming easily for Dori. Tossing and turning was doing little to help bring slumber upon him and every time he had managed to get comfortable, he quickly grew uncomfortable. His efforts were to no avail, however; his mind was just too busy thinking about the surprising news his nephew, Zori, had given him that afternoon.

'I can't believe the lad is courting Éolynna of all people!' he thought, staring through the dim light at his ceiling. 'I knew he went to Dale far too much for just casually visiting Bofur and Bifur, but…Oh! I do hope some of my lessons have stuck with him and he _asked _Bofur before courting his daughter!' Shaking his head, he sat up and slid out of bed.

"Mahal, do I ever need a cup of tea," he mumbled as he wrapped himself up in a blanket.

As he walked down the hall, faintly glowing moss near the floor lit the path. It was a chore, remembering to carefully trim it twice a month and water it once a week, but after the first three times he had accidentally tripped up the stairs, Dori knew the stuff would make up for the efforts. What helped was that it was so pretty, having been fashioned into elegant patterns.

Reaching the kitchen, he stocked the coals of the fire a little bit before adding a small, dried piece of peat onto the embers. The heat from the coals almost instantly caught the moss on fire and flames formed soon after. Dori set the kettle over the flames and sat down, blearily waiting for the water to boil as he rubbed his face.

"Éolynna is quite a catch," he murmured to himself, "but I would not ever, _ever _think she'd fancy our Zori. He's a gentlemen and a strong lad, to be sure, but…He hasn't got much of a beard…and he can be a bit crude…"

"Who's not got much of a beard and is crude?"

Dori jumped in surprise, looking up to find Nori skulking into the kitchen. His left eye was swollen and badly bruised while a bit of blood trickled from his nose into his mustache. Eyes widening, Dori got up and raced over to his brother.

"What in Mahal's name happened to you?!" he cried, gently taking Nori's face in his hands. Nori, as usual, tried to bat him away, but soon gave up as he knew his eldest brother would persist with the mothering. "Don't tell me you were out drinking with those—those vagabonds at the Basalt Basin again!"

Flinching under his brother's touch, Nori shook his head. "No, no. Nothing o' the sort, I promise," he assured Dori. "I was takin' a stroll with Dwalin and Balin when things got…ah…a bit rowdy." He grinned cheekily only to be forced down into a chair before Dori filled a bowl with water from a strange device in the wall. "Dwalin an' me just got a bit too rough is all. Be glad he wasn't wearing his knuckledusters!"

"'Be glad he wasn't wearing his knuckledusters!' he says! Ha!" Shaking his head in frustration, he took a cloth and dipped it into the water before forcing his brother to let him dab at the wounds. "The two of you are worse than a gaggle of cockerels! Now _hold still_."

Nori gave up trying to shove him away. "So who doesn't have much of a beard?" he questioned again, trying to divert Dori's attention.

"Oh, no one. I was just muttering to myself."

His brow rose; Nori knew Dori was lying. "It didn't sound like happy muttering."

"It's fine, it's fine. Now tilt your head back –there you go. This will sting, but you know that already." He had grabbed a bottle of witch-hazel oil and poured a bit onto the dry section of the cloth. Then he began to very gently wipe it onto the bruised portion of Nori's eye.

"You were muttering about Zori, weren't you?" Nori correctly guessed.

Dori's frown grew in size and his brows knit themselves together. "Now why in Mahal's name would I be doing such a thing?!"

Nori's brow rose. "Because he's started to court Éolynna, that's why. And don't you even try to lie; you're the world's worst liar."

Saying nothing, Dori quietly huffed and continued to dab the witch-hazel oil onto his brother's skin.

"So you don't think my son has enough of a beard for her, eh?" Nori asked after some minutes.

"It's just that Éolynna's always fancied folk with…well, ample facial hair. It's just a bit of a shock that she would end up courting someone with just a tuft on his chin."

He snorted only to end up wincing as a bolt of pain shot through his nose. "Need I remind you that all o' us only have tufts o' hair on our chins until we were in our fifties?"

Dori gave him a bland look. "And need I remind you that you stole Zori from a village of bandit women and that he hasn't an ounce of dwarrow blood in him?" he dryly retorted.

At that, Nori puffed out his chest in indignation. "He's still _my _son," he told his brother, "and that makes him a dwarrow by association. He has himself a fine enough beard for someone with elf blood in him –and it'll only get larger as he ages."

"I know that," Dori scolded. "It's just…curious to me that Éolynna and Zori are courting."

"Éolynna's half human! For all we know, she only _pretended _to fancy the large beards so she wouldn't disappoint Bofur." He finally pulled his face out of his brother's grip. "But…I will admit, I always thought Zori would be after Sanna. Even Bombur and Gerdi admit she'd make a fine match for him, what with how much trouble she gets herself into."

Dori couldn't help but laugh. "Sanna? I wouldn't have thought her, to be honest. I always thought he'd be chasing Lazuli around. Mahal knows the two of them flirted enough! But, I guess it was always her older sister he fancied."

Nori nodded, pulling his pipe from his belt. "I hope it doesn't cause a rift between the girls…since there's no tellin' if she was joshin' around with Zori or not."

"They're Braddocks –they're as close as a dwarrow family," Dori assured him. "You've seen firsthand what sort of dangers Will and Baylee went through for one another. I'm sure Baylee's children are the same."

"One can only hope," he murmured, lighting the tobacco in his pipe. "Because I don't want my son tearin' apart a family."

Dori shook his head. "Zori's a smart lad. He'll try talking things out should any rifts arise."

"That's only if he's paid any mind to you and your lectures," Nori smirked. "In this case, I really hope he did, even if he was asleep durin' most of those lectures."

Pouting, Dori moved to fill the teapot with hot water. "Just like his father in that way, isn't he?"

Nori proudly grinned behind his brother's back. "Yes, he is."

* * *

The Prancing Pony was, as usual, filled with customers and patrons. Its common room was bursting with humans and hobbits who were conversing gaily with one another as they drank good beer and ate freshly baked bread. Gytha wore a small smile as she watched the Big Folk help hobbits onto barstools and hand them pints of beer as big as their heads. Jahangir, however, did not seem as pleased by the choice of lodgings.

"It's too loud here," he spoke, chewing a bit of bread, "and they didn't give us any washing bowls."

"You didn't complain about the lack of washing bowls at the last inn," she commented, "nor have you made such a complaint during this whole trip."

He shifted slightly, a bit of a pout on his lips. "I can't help it. All of these people around us…it just feels a bit dirtier. Doesn't help that the ceiling is stained with tar and smoke…"

"This is a clean place," she assured him. "I've stayed here before; the beds are good, the baths are nice, and the food pleasant. Yes, it's a bit…loud…but this is the largest city this side of the Misty Mountains and this is one of two inns. It'll quiet down as the night goes on."

Jahangir slowly nodded, a defeated sigh leaving his mouth. "If you say so," he murmured. "I just hope it's settled down before we go to bed. After sleeping in silence these past few weeks, I think I'll jump at every creaky floorboard." He gave her a small smile, his hand sliding over and giving hers a small squeeze. "Especially after those bandits."

She returned the smile. "I have no doubts that you'll be on your feet in an instant should anyone try to break into our room." Taking a bite of stew, she looked around the common room again. "How do you think they're doing?"

"Hm? The clan?" Gytha nodded. "They are probably more than a little upset at us," he admitted. "More so at you than me, I hate to say. If anything, however, they are more than likely trying to keep everything organized."

At that, she let out a sarcastic laugh. "Organized? Jahangir, you should have seen the state our records when I was put in charge of them! I love my parents dearly, but I cannot say that they are capable of keeping proper records." She shook her head. "At least, when I sorted everything out, I discovered our treasury was a bit fuller than we originally thought…"

"That's always a good thing." Raising his bowl, he drank the last bit of the stew from it and let out a satisfied belch. "Well…there is _one _good thing I can admit about this place."

"Hm? What's that?" She took a nibble from a piece of bread.

He grinned cheekily. "They make better stew than you." A laugh left his mouth as she lightly punched him.

"What I make is far more edible than that disgusting mush you make!"

"Gytha, you may be my fiancée, but I must admit that, if we eventually marry, I refuse to eat your cooking."

"Then I guess the two of us will have to starve to death, because I will refuse to eat yours as well," she mused. Her attention was drawn elsewhere as she caught sight of someone approaching their table. As she turned her head, she saw that it was the hobbit lass from earlier who was coming near them.

"What does she want?" Jahangir whispered and Gytha found herself thanking Aulë that non-dwarves did not speak Khuzdul.

Taking a drink from her ale, Gytha gave the young woman a smile. "Hello again."

Mistletoe's cheeks turned pinked as she returned the greeting. "Good evening," she replied. "I ah…I was just wondering…You said that the two of you were heading to Erebor after Bree, right?" She stole a peek over her shoulder.

She nodded, her brow rising. "Aye, we are."

"W-well…" She bit her lip and looked down at Bramblerose, who was wide awake and gnawing on a wooden ring. "If I pay you, would you be willing to let me travel with you? I can cook and I'm also fairly good healer, so I wouldn't be an entirely useless companion."

Jahangir opened his mouth to protest, but quickly disguised it with a yawn as he felt Gytha stamp on his foot. He shot his fiancée a small glare, but said nothing as he shoved a large chunk of bread into his mouth.

"Our talk of bandits earlier has made you nervous, has it not?" Gytha sighed. She knew full well that having two more companions would slow them down, but someone who could cook would be a nice change…and she could provide a welcomed change in conversation.

Mistletoe nodded, looking behind her for a second time. Gytha's brow rose minutely; she was curious to know why the hobbit kept looking over her shoulder. "I know how to use a meat cleaver, but I'm afraid I'm useless when it comes to battle…" She managed a small laugh before Bramblerose started to fuss. Shifting the child so that she was propped against her shoulder, she began patting her on the back. "Like I said, I've gold, so I can pay. And if it's not enough, I've got some jewelry…"

She nodded in understanding. "Then I take it Bree was not your final destination?"

"Well…" Tucking a bit of hair behind her ear, Mistletoe unconsciously glanced over her shoulder for the third time, though the gaze lingered as if searching the room for someone. "It was, but that was before I found out some…unfavorable folk were here." Another shy smile appeared on her lips.

Gytha thoughtfully scratched her beard. "Jahangir and I will have to discuss this, you understand." She stole a glance at the male dwarf, hearing him mutter in Khuzdul about the burden the two hobbits would be to them.

Mistletoe quickly nodded. "Oh, of course!" she replied. "I understand. This isn't something you can just decide willy-nilly, after all—oh dear…" She cringed somewhat as Bramblerose burped loudly…and messily.

Doing her best to stifle a laugh, Gytha gave her a somewhat pitying look and offered her a napkin. "Find us in the morning," she instructed. "We will have an answer for you by then."

Using the napkin to wipe up the spit-up as best she could, Mistletoe smiled. "Alright. In the morning then." Curtsying, she bid them a goodnight and wandered off into the crowded common room.

"No."

She turned to Jahangir, her brows furrowing. "She won't slow us down," she quietly replied, also speaking in Khuzdul.

"She has a child, Gytha. She _will _slow us down." He lifted his mug and took a slow drink from it. "Frankly, I don't see why she even wants to go to Erebor when she has such a young child."

Leaning back in her seat, Gytha sighed. "She clearly has a reason. Hobbits are not the sort of folk who simply get up one day and decide to leave their home on some grand whim. They're the sorts who enjoy peace and gardening and…peaceful things!" Covering her mouth as she yawned, she lightly shook her head. "Not only that, but she said she can cook."

Setting his mug down, he met his fiancée's gaze. "Just because she _says _she can cook, doesn't mean she actually can."

"_All_ hobbits can cook." Closing her eyes, she ran a hand over her braided scalp, her features betraying her weariness. "We need a cook, Jahangir. We can't continue eating foul-tasting would-be stew and jerky all the way to the Red Mountains, let alone to Erebor. It will _not _sustain us that long. She also told us that she can _pay_. Even if it is a small bit of gold or silver, it will help." She pushed her chair back and stood up.

Rolling his eyes, Jahangir uttered a curse under his breath and followed after her. "Gytha," he spoke as they headed up a flight of stairs, "hobbits eat a lot. If she comes with us, she'll eat through our rations in a week!"

"That is the most preposterous thing I've heard from you yet!" she laughed.

"Think about it: They have two breakfasts, three dinners, two suppers, and then dessert," he argued as Gytha opened the door to their shared room. "Hobbits are like moose –they eat all day!"

She looked over her shoulder at him. "And you honestly think that one hobbit woman and her unweaned child will eat that much? Jahangir, if she ate that much while on the road, she would have continuously eaten food the whole time she rode with us!" Shaking her head, she quietly laughed again.

He sighed, closing the door. "A hobbit has no business going to Erebor anyway," he told her. "It's a dwarrow city."

"A hobbit helped to reclaim it," she gently reminded him. Starting to unbutton her vest, she yawned. Her brow rose when she felt Jahangir come up behind her and rest his chin on her shoulder. "Yes?"

"She's too young. To be out adventuring like that –and with a child, no less- is dangerous."

Gytha glimpsed back at him as she began unlacing her tunic. "Did you notice how she kept looking around, though?" She lightly pushed him away so she could remove her tunic.

He nodded as he backed off and kicked his boots off. "I did. What do you make of it?" Sitting down, he pulled off his tunic and surcoat.

"That she's scared. She did mention that there was unfavorable company here."

Jahangir's brow rose. "Of all the things I've heard of hobbits, them having enemies was not one of them. What do you think is going on with her?"

"Mahal only knows." Yawning again, she sat down on her bed and kicked off her boots. "It would be dangerous bringing her and her child with us, but…"

"You know it could, potentially, be more dangerous for the two of them if we left them behind," Jahangir finished for her. He rubbed his temples tiredly. "The last thing we need is to get caught up in another person's troubles. We've got a mountain of our own to get over."

"Which is why I told her we would discuss this matter; it really is not one we can take lightly. On the one hand, it would be nice to have new conversation and proper food to eat." She pulled a comb from her belt and unbraided her hair and beard. "On the other, we could get mixed up in something that could put us further into harm's way as well as slow us down." Keeping her hair separated into sections, she started to gently comb the curly locks.

He nodded in agreement as he watched her. "She said she's a healer, right?" he asked after some minutes. By then, Gytha had combed through a quarter of her hair, freeing it of some blades of grass and some leaves.

"Yes, she did," she replied. She didn't look up as he stood and came over to her side.

Taking up her combed hair, Jahangir began to braid it once more for her. "Then she will have _some _use to us," he told her. "If we run into more trouble on the road, we can't be sure we'll be left unharmed. You don't know much about tending wounds besides basic cleaning and binding and I'm not much better off."

"Do not forget the cooking," she quietly teased.

He managed a small smile. "That, I will admit, will be a most welcome change." As he braided her hair, he was careful to keep her ear exposed so no strands would get caught on her ear-cuffs. "But know this: I'm only agreeing to her coming because we need a healer and I don't want her child in worse danger."

Gytha smiled as well, stealing a peek at him. "You always did have a soft spot for children."

Jahangir sighed and rolled his eyes, ignoring his reddening cheeks. "Don't remind me…"

* * *

_He was walking –or was he floating? he could never tell- through a birch forest. Light poured down through the boughs above, scattering the bracken and moss with its golden rays. Birds loudly sang their songs and herds of deer freely roamed through the trees, having no enemies to fear. Closing his eyes, he ceased walking and smiled, letting the peace envelope him._

_This was not the first time he had visited the forest; he had tread this path many times throughout the years. It was not as comforting to him as the stone halls of mountains, but it was, by far, more quiet. No matter how far away from the busy smithies and market streets of his home he got, it seemed their clamor always managed to find a way to his ears so long as he was within the mountain. Out here, however, he could only hear animals and insects and, sometimes, the sigh of the wind._

_Soon, the sound of voices drifted towards his ears. Not wanting to be seen, he ducked behind a tree and carefully peered around its trunk. Two elves were walking down the path, one a blue-clad male and the other a brown-clad female._

_"Nín ieill, prestad?" The male asked, his brows slightly furrowed when he noticed his companion's distant gaze._

_With a laugh, a sound like falling rain, she looked at the male. "Ú. Uhunc ylf ernedui. Abarad, hon posto vae."_

_"Alae! Boe de nestad tol-minuial!" He smiled, pleased by whatever answer she had given him. _

_He shifted, trying to get a better look at the two. He must have made some sort of noise because the male's attention suddenly focused on him. _

_"Man taw?" The elf started walking towards the tree, his hand starting to reach inside his robe for a hidden blade._

_The female cocked her head. "Man taw man?" she replied, following after him._

_"Dartha-adel!" commanded the male elf._

_Panicking, he pressed himself against the tree trunk, hoping he wouldn't be caught. It was a useless effort, for the male elf suddenly appeared before him, his blade drawn-_

Fíli's eyes flicked open and found nothing but darkness. A sigh of relief left his mouth and he closed his eyes once more before wearily rubbing his face. His brow rose and he wriggled his shoulders, feeling a soft, but firm surface beneath him. Feeling below himself, he rolled his eyes; he had fallen out of bed.

"Some brilliant creation of Mahal you are, Fíli," he muttered, rolling over and pushing himself onto his knees. Shaking his head, he fumbled around in the dark, searching for the box of matches that normally sat atop his nightstand. When he at last found it, it took a number of strikes to finally get the sulfur head to light. "And some brilliant creation of hobbits you matches are…" he muttered as it burnt out before he could light his candle.

After finally lighting his candle, he groggily crawled over to his washbasin and pulled himself upright. He rested his elbows on the tabletop as he splashed the cool water on his face, giving his skin a small scrub. Snatching up a towel, he dabbed his face dry before looking into the mirror. The face he saw was the same face he had seen almost every day since he had come of age, though it now bore small hints of war he had fought in.

The only part of his face that had truly changed was his eyes. What had once been a pair of royal blue eyes was now an eerie light grey set. Dís had told him they changed because of shock, yet no one else in Thorin's Company had suffered such a change. He didn't mind it, save for his mother's constant lamentation about how he no longer had his father's eyes.

Holding onto the wall for support, he limped over to the window seat and looked out at the city. Being night, the streets were almost empty and the enormous lamps that kept Erebor's market lit had been dimmed until morning. Brushing a lock of golden hair from his face, he smile, spying a pair of lovers walking down the main street, their hands clasped.

'Must have gone to the top of Spiraling Stair to see the stars,' he thought, looking away from the lovers. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the features of someone else; they were coming out of one of the buildings and had a bit of a swagger to their step. 'Ahh, someone partaking in a late-night drink. Wonder if it's anyone I know?'

He chuckled and shook his head, turning away from the window after tugging the curtain closed. 'To think, someday I'll be the king of such a peaceful realm…' Making his way back to the bed, he yawned and sat down. He blew out the candle and stretched out on his bed, tucking a hand behind his head.

"That'd be nice," he murmured to himself, "being king during peace…" With a small smile, he closed his eyes and drifted back into sleep, having no more dreams of strange lands and elves.


End file.
